Go with the sun beyond the hill,
For you and me there is no thrill
In any rose of love or bud,
Nor any quickening of the blood.
Lo, from the tree of Good and Ill
Each strangest fruit our hand has wrung,
Lust's adder was around our throat,
And on our lips the hissing tongue.
No wanton queen by Cupid's grace
Shall snare me in her purple mesh,
I take mine eyes from Helen's face,
I tear my lips from Phryne's flesh.
Not mine that martyr's ecstasy
Who hellward for a kiss was hurled!
The ancient passions of the world
Quench not the bitter thirst of me.
The isles of Lesbos hide no dell
Where bides a rapture strange or new,
But white wan ghosts of dead sins dwell
In Capri's grottoes monstrous blue.
The books of Elephantis tell
Only the fortunes that befell
The son of Hermes and of her
Who wore the foam as vestiture,
And how young Leda's heart would stir
Beneath her plumed paramour.
Stale is to me the thought thereof,
Of this man's sin and that man's love.
Ah, that the world had but one mouth
To kiss it as a madman doth!
Grant me the strength of all embraces
In the five circles of the globe!
Make mine each drop of blood that races,
Clothe me with romance as a robe!
Bring me the yearning of the dreams
Of all the young men amorous!
Bruise me with every breast that gleams
Beneath some hell-sent incubus!
Let madness rise in one bold gust,
And in the carnival of lust
Heap fire on fire, and coal on coal,
Join all things, thighs, and hips, and soul,
Until at last the panting earth
Shall tremble with conjugial mirth
Like a drunk wanton; till desire,
Heedless of scorpions and of rods,
Shall toss his splendid mane of fire
And smite your pale, anaemic gods!
Then, like a cyclopean brand
That threatening rises from the deeps,
My passion's embers newly fanned
Shall be a flame that sings and leaps,
With every bond of nature riven,
And broken every gyve that bars,
In the concupiscence of heaven,
And in the incest of the stars!
For you and me there is no thrill
In any rose of love or bud,
Nor any quickening of the blood.
Lo, from the tree of Good and Ill
Each strangest fruit our hand has wrung,
Lust's adder was around our throat,
And on our lips the hissing tongue.
No wanton queen by Cupid's grace
Shall snare me in her purple mesh,
I take mine eyes from Helen's face,
I tear my lips from Phryne's flesh.
Not mine that martyr's ecstasy
Who hellward for a kiss was hurled!
The ancient passions of the world
Quench not the bitter thirst of me.
The isles of Lesbos hide no dell
Where bides a rapture strange or new,
But white wan ghosts of dead sins dwell
In Capri's grottoes monstrous blue.
The books of Elephantis tell
Only the fortunes that befell
The son of Hermes and of her
Who wore the foam as vestiture,
And how young Leda's heart would stir
Beneath her plumed paramour.
Stale is to me the thought thereof,
Of this man's sin and that man's love.
Ah, that the world had but one mouth
To kiss it as a madman doth!
Grant me the strength of all embraces
In the five circles of the globe!
Make mine each drop of blood that races,
Clothe me with romance as a robe!
Bring me the yearning of the dreams
Of all the young men amorous!
Bruise me with every breast that gleams
Beneath some hell-sent incubus!
Let madness rise in one bold gust,
And in the carnival of lust
Heap fire on fire, and coal on coal,
Join all things, thighs, and hips, and soul,
Until at last the panting earth
Shall tremble with conjugial mirth
Like a drunk wanton; till desire,
Heedless of scorpions and of rods,
Shall toss his splendid mane of fire
And smite your pale, anaemic gods!
Then, like a cyclopean brand
That threatening rises from the deeps,
My passion's embers newly fanned
Shall be a flame that sings and leaps,
With every bond of nature riven,
And broken every gyve that bars,
In the concupiscence of heaven,
And in the incest of the stars!